Tom and the Stranger
by Dragoncat99
Summary: Irony is cruel, as is fate. Mix the two together and what do you get? A life you never wanted, surrounded by what you hate most. At least there’s a kind stranger or two to help you through, right? (Rated T ‘cause I’m paranoid)


Author's Note:

Yeah, I really can't come up with a better name for this. If anyone has any better ideas, that'd be great.

So... um... this is my first fan fiction. At least, this is the first one I'm actually sharing with anyone. (I've been writing them for years in my head)

As such, um... please be nice. Constructive criticism is always welcome, of course, but don't just leave flames. If you have something to say that's constructive, please say it! I want to improve my writing!

Please forgive the cliche plot... my goal with this fic is to take a tired cliche and try to make it fresh. Whether or not I'll end up doing that, idk, but I guess we'll see!

Also, I'm using this fic as a way to introduce an AU of mine... I'm sure someone's made an AU like this before, but I'm not exactly involved in a lot of the Warriors community, so... yeah. It's original to me. ;_;

Enjoy!

A tuxedo-coated tomcat stumbled through an alleyway, his fur tattered and soaked. His frame wavered as he struggled to stay upright, and his sluggish blue eyes drifted around, searching for something. Eventually, he sighed, collapsing onto the remnants of a cardboard box.

This had to be some kind of cruel joke. There was no other explanation for it. He had always hated cats, but now it seemed he was doomed to die as one.

A loud rumble interrupted his thoughts. It had been days since he had last eaten, but it hardly mattered now; he could barely move. Closing his eyes, he lay still, completely ready to accept his fate...

"HEY MOUSEBRAIN," a voice shattered the silence, startling the dying tom from his thoughts, "GET YOUR OWN PLACE TO CRASH!"

A bulky, yellow tom with wiry fur stalked out of the shadows, dropping a piece of trash at his feet.

"S-sorry!" The tuxedo cat stuttered.

He struggled to right himself and run off, as he was now well-accustomed, but despite his best efforts he collapsed under his own weight.

The yellow tom's gaze narrowed, "What's the deal with you? 'Ya sick or something?"

"Something like that..." the tuxedo trailed off.

He had been too scared to notice before, but the bit of trash the other cat had been carrying smelled... good. Despite his mind's initial reaction to the thought of eating trash, his mouth began to water.

"Guess your motha' never told you not to stare either?"

Noticing how desperate he must look, the tuxedo looked away and curled in on himself. To his surprise, however, the yellow cat responded with a hardy laugh.

"Look, buddy. You can have it."

"W- wait, really?"

"Yes, really."

The black and white cat looked up at the stranger, down at the food, and back up again. He sniffed it cautiously.

"It's not poisoned, ya know," Somehow, the yellow tom's laugh was even more bombastic the second time, "Honestly, I'm not even hungry. I just didn't want that gray bastard to have it. I was gonna save it for later, but..." he examined the black and white tom with a surprisingly sympathetic eye, "you obviously need it more."

After a moment of gawking, the starving tom scarfed down the rotting meal.

He gagged a bit, but continued eating with haste. It tasted far worse than it smelled, but it was worth it. Maybe it was just his imagination, but it felt like his strength was returning already.

After nearly choking several times, he slowed down.

While this certainly saved him from a horrible, humiliating death, he now had to truly taste the food. It was almost a fair trade.

...Almost.

"So, what's your name, bud?" spoke the yellow tom as he settled down next to the voracious cat.

'...name...' the tuxedo thought.

He could remember his name, of course, he didn't have amnesia or anything, but something made him reluctant to share it. He wasn't quite sure why. There wasn't any clear danger in sharing his name with this... stranger... but using his human name when he was like this just felt... wrong. He was NOT a cat. He was just... stuck in a cat body. For now. He was going to fix this, but... for now he needed a new name. The only question is what it should be.

An idea flashed in his mind before quickly being discarded. No, he wouldn't... he couldn't... it was too stupid.

The temptation was too strong, however. Hating his terrible sense of humor now more than ever before, he said, "Tom."

The stranger mewed incredulously, "Tom?"

"Y-yeah."

After a quick chuckle the yellow tom responded, "Your ma musta had some sense of humor, Tom."

"H-heh. Yeah."

Honestly, Tom's real name wasn't exactly high brow either, but something told him that that joke would've gone over the stranger's head.

"And you?" Tom questioned.

"Oh, me? I don't really have a name."

Tom's ears perked up with interest. He hadn't really expected feral cats to have names to begin with, but after he asked, Tom had figured it was a thing.

Seeing the confusion on Tom's face, the stranger continued, "yeah, I'm not much of a talker. Thought you could tell by my speakin' voice."

"What do you mean?"

"Ya kiddin' me, right?"

Now that Tom thought about it, the stranger's voice did sound rather raspy, like it hadn't been used for a while. Between that and his poor, slurred speech, he probably should've known.

"Well... I should probably call you something, right?" Tom mewed, "How about... Stranger?" He had been referring to him as "stranger" mentally for a while now, so it really only made sense.

The laugh of the yellow tom returned, filling the alley with a jolly aura.

"Sure, bud. Just so ya' know, you're by far the most creative cat I've talked to in a long time."

While the comment originally filled Tom with pride, a few moments later he realized what a back-handed compliment it was. He decided to stuff down his injured ego with the remainder of the "meal."

After he finished eating, he sat in silence for a bit. He wasn't sure where to go from here. Should he just get up and walk away? Should he continue his conversation? Would it be rude to fall asleep, as he so badly wanted to? He had no clue what 'Cat Etiquette' was like, or even if there was such a thing. Luckily for him, Stranger noticed his drooping eyes.

Looking away to seem aloof, he mewed, "Ya know, if you were to fall 'sleep here, I wouldn't move ya."

Tom wanted to respond, but ended up just collapsing. Turns out he was even more tired than he thought.

Tired... so tired.

It didn't even cross his mind that he was essentially entrusting his life to a complete stranger as he fell asleep. Luckily for him, Stranger wasn't that low. The yellow tom simply walked to the other side of the alley to prepare himself a makeshift bed.

Tom's thoughts of home and his life before slowly morphed into dreams as he rested. He didn't know what would happen tomorrow, or even if he'd wake up, but he knew one thing for sure: he would fight until his dying breath to fix this. He refused to die a cat.


End file.
